The Descent
by flowinthestream12
Summary: Tate Langdon was executed in his bedroom by a S.W.A.T. team in 1994. He had maimed his stepfather & killed five students. What drove him to it? Was it the loss of a girl? Who was his first love? OC character, dream-cast Sophie Turner (GOT).
1. Chapter 1

Tate Langdon was shaking. He always shivered in intervals when he had gone too long without food or sleep. On this day, both. This time was particularly irritating since he was in public, in his school library, returning the books about birds he had been flipping through back on the shelf, clanging on the metal. Tate was mentally daring anyone who noticed it to crack a joke that he was on drugs. Just because he knew where his mother's stash was, didn't mean that he would actually use it.

Even if this place would be easier to handle if he had snorted that white powder. He was still strong, but, his grip was slipping. Literally. Tate only realized that he dropped the last, and coincidently heaviest, book when the sharp corner of its spine crushed his toe 'protected' by his weathered black boots.

"_Shit_," Tate hissed at the crippling stinging pain.

The nail of his big toe was definitely hanging off on one side. _How can such a minor injury hurt so terribly_? Snarling curses under his breath and his hollowed cheeks flushing, Tate resisted kicking the book across the room and returned it to its alphabetical place on the bookshelf. He didn't want to risk being suspended. Westfield was heaven compared to his home, Murder House.

"_Pfft_, pussy," chuckled the worthless pothead slumped at the table furthest from Tate.

One chilling glare from Tate's ebony eyes sent every hair erect all over that fat boy's body. How dare he insult someone twice his height? In size, the boy had Tate beat. Tate was underweight for his 5'10" height ... 126 pounds the last time secretly stepped on his mother's bathroom scale. Tall, gangly, but, very fast.

Though no one would guess by his unhealthy appearance, he ran track to blow off steam. Perhaps the boy dared to insult Tate because they were in the library full of witnesses ... safe from Tate's large knuckles. Tate limped on his aching foot out of the library, closing his eyes at the sounds of quiet laughter growing louder in the library. It was lunch hour at Westfield. Tate was glad that he had already bought a sandwich during breakfast hour in the cafeteria. It was probably just sludge in a plastic bag in his back pocket by now, but, he was starving enough to still stomach it.

He was walking past the alleyway between the library and the cafeteria when he noticed that the chain-link door was left unlocked. It was off-limits to students, barring them from the wooden staircase to the roof. As though this was an everyday thing, Tate wedged his broad shoulders through the narrow metal doorway and limped up the stairs, the steps creaking ominously under his weight. When his broken toenail gave a particularly painful throb, he smacked the rickety railing with his large, boney hand. Tate sighed once he stepped onto the flat roof of the library.

It was a vast peaceful area, almost as good as his favorite spot on the beach nearby. Tate kept his eyes on the ground out of habit, heading towards the airconditioner at near the edge of the roof. He sank down on it unsteadily and groaned. Tate's toes felt wet. Tears started to leak out as he carefully removed his shoe. He gasped when his toenail was ripped off with his sock.

"You should get help with that," said a girl's voice.

Tate jolted out of his reverie and stared up at whom had spoken. There was a girl standing on the edge of the roof with her back to him. She was looking over her shoulder and Tate saw how pretty she was. She made him forget the pain in his foot for a whole ten seconds. She had dark auburn hair, porcelein skin, thick-lashed crystal eyes, and lips red as blood.  
"I thought I was alone," Tate mumbled before frowning, "what are you doing over there?"

The girl laughed humorlessly, "I'd introduce myself, but, I don't wanna waste a hope that you'd miss me." Tate raised his eyebrows and she elaborated, "I'll just stand here. It makes it easier to fall."

Tate's lips parted numbly and breathed, "_Shit_."

This girl was going to kill herself. He had to think fast ... he really regretted missing breakfast now. Thinking hurt almost as much as his bleeding toe. Then, an idea struck him. Tate pulled the sandwich, just as squished as he had expected, from his jean pocket and started to unwrap it. Unwrapping it was like opening the gates of heaven. A breeze encircled the two lonely teenagers and the girl turned around again, attracted by the obnoxious aroma of fatty cheese and thick ham.

Tate offered it to her, "Last supper?"

The girl giggled, "You want me to postpone my death for _that_?"

"That ledge is not going anywhere," Tate gave her a smile.

The girl eyed him coyly before stepping away from the ledge, "Sure. I'm Mikaela." Tate was about to say his name when she held up her hand, "You're Tate Langdon, right?"

Tate scooted over for Mikaela, "Do we know each other?"

Mikaela was wearing a rather loose-fitting black sweater that threw her snowy skin into sharp relief ... and did nothing to hide her curvy figure. So many girls at the school were as thin as rails. She was different. Her tight burgundy pencil skirt had black roses cut from paper all over it with pins and she was wearing ballet shoes. Tate had never been this close to a girl before and never once delude himself that he'd ever be sharing a seat with such a stunning one.

He wondered if she knew it.

Mikaela pinched off a piece of his ham sandwich, "My ex is on the track team. We've watched you run all over the P.E. field." Tate chuckled and she seemed to smile for real at that sound, "Get off your high horse, Tate. We weren't _stalking_ you. Just wondering why you never joined."

Tate was fine with the odd subject matter was long as it kept Mikaela from thinking about death ... even more fine with that she remembered _him_, "I just run to stay sane. Not to compete. That'd suck the point out of it. It's freedom. It's the closest we get to flying."

Mikaela smiled again when he took a bite and glanced at his wounded toe, "That's a lot of blood."

Tate showed her the scar on his wrist, "Not as much as what came out of here." It was as though the twinkle in Mikaela's eye had been restored when she saw that. Tate shook his head, "We all think about death. We all think about killing ourselves. Just imagine not having anyone to pull you back."

Mikaela raised her eyebrows, "Do you really believe that bullshit?"

Tate shrugged his shoulders and sighed, "_Well_, I've been looking for someone to keep me from going over the ledge, too, Mikaela."

Their shoulders brushed together and the breeze returned, encircling them closer together. Tate chanced holding Mikaela's dainty hand ... she did not pull away.

Mikaela giggled and got to her feet, "That ledge will be there tomorrow. Com'on, let's get you to the Nurse's before you bleed to death.


	2. Chapter 2

Larry Lawrence caressed the withered hand of his domineering wife, Constance, while she lounged elegantly on the living room sofa. Tate's lip curled at the fact that his stepfather was kneeling before his mother. He never liked the flamboyant man nor could he ever fathom why his mother accepted his wedding proposal. No matter how dire their situation was without a co-provider, Constance Langdon must have had a twisted motive in marrying the man. Tate was passing the living room window on his way to the front door when he caught his mother's eye.

They shared the same kind of eyes, beautiful ... startlingly cold and dark. Tate did not return the small smile she gave him. It was nearly nightfall when Tate chose to return home. His older brother, Beau, must be asleep because he was not creating a raucous from the attic. The light feeling he had while with Mikaela was wearing off almost completely once he was inside the mansion. However, he did not have to fake a smile when his older sister, Adelaide "Addie" Langdon, came skipping down to him from the kitchen.

"Momma got a call from your school," she panted, tugging on the sleeve of Tate's oversized black jacket. "Momma said you got hurt. Can I see it?"

Tate grinned kindly down at her. He was the only one out of his siblings whom was born without Down's syndrome. Although, he needn't forget that he has his own slew of issues to take its place. Tate carefully removed his shoe to show her his heavily bandaged foot.

"Can I touch it?"

Tate chuckled as he past the living room, ignoring his mother's attempts to get his attention, "That would hurt, wouldn't it?"

"I still want to," Addie protested as he sank down onto one of the stools at the island in the vast kitchen.

Tate had a special spot in his heart for his siblings. He was always tender towards them.

"Want to know how it happened?" he groaned, giving her a sweet smile. As expected, Addie nodded vigorously. Tate sighed, "It was a book."

"A _big_ book?"

"A big book," Tate confirmed with a grin.

"Bad book!"

At that moment, Constance strutted into the kitchen. Like her youngest son, she had a magnetic way of drawing every eye on her without much effort on her part. Tate, however, was scrambling internally for an excuse to leave the room. Sadly, being within ten feet of his mother always made his blood boil.

Constance squeezed Addie's upper arm and patted her back, "What bad book, my dear?"

"The book that hurt Tate's foot," Addie said brightly before racing from the room, abandoning her little brother.

Constance grinned as she judged her son, "What's her name?" Tate just looked at her, prompting her to expand on her question, "The girl that brought you to the nurses? What's her name?"

Tate heaved himself to his feet, nearly taller than his mother, "Doesn't matter. I only forestalled her imminent death for one day. She'll probably be gone tomorrow."

Comprehension dawned in Constance's dark, heavily-lashed eyes, "Then it has to be that Mikaela. Don't think the rumor mill skips the P.T.A., Tate. She's been in trouble. She's from the south side of town. I've heard a lot about that girl."

Tate shrugged, "I saved her life. Doesn't that phase you?"

Constance walked up to him and picked off a fleck of dandruff from his sloping shoulder, "Congratulations, my dear. I knew you had a heart."

Tate barely resisted curling his lip, "Lost my appetite. I'm not coming to dinner. Pass it along to Moira."


End file.
